At six years old, Randy VIII's gym training was increased and his father would regularly question him about his feelings regarding the fights he got into. By eight, there was talk of possible involuntary military induction. Randy VIII wasn't sure just what that meant for him yet, but as he had always wanted to be a fighter, he was hardly displeased by the idea.

Seven was rather anxious about all of this and one night he plucked up his courage and approached his father, "What's gonna happen with my baby brother?"

"He will be inducted into the military, just like most other warrior-class," Randy explained simply. "As he seems more aggressive than most, however, he requires extra monitoring and if things continue as they have, the military training will likely occur regardless of his wishes, for his own safety and that of others."

"...I can't go with him can I? I...I can't keep him safe anymore?" Seven asked, his blue eyes full of despair. It wasn't even really a question, he had seen how Eight's behavior had changed and how much harder it was getting to keep him out of trouble, it was getting clearer and clearer to Seven that at some point he'd have to let his brother go and see other people looking after him. Maybe there would even be a day when Seven wasn't needed...or wanted anymore.

Randy's expression softened as he sensed Seven's concerns and he pulled him in for an embrace. Things will change, said the sentiments that he shared with Seven mentally, but you do not need to worry about that.

"Daddy...how come Eight is different?" asked Seven as he returned his father hug.

"For the same reason any of us is what he is," Randy replied. "Biological factors in place during fetal development determine class, you know all of that." It was clear that he didn't really want to discuss his concerns about Randy VIII's particular class with Seven, at least not yet.

Seven wasn't fooled, he knew Randy was withholding something and he gave his father a scrutinizing look tinged with just the slightest bit of disappointment, "That wasn't what I meant," for his age Seven was very observant and despite being calm and quiet he was more aware and perceptive than his brothers had been at the same age.

Randy sighed. "I know that," he said simply. "It is nothing too worrying, but I do not wish to make any direct statements until I am sure."

Seven's frown deepened, "But he is different....isn't he?" he insisted.

Randy responded with a single nod. There was no getting around it, though it would be another two to three years before a final assessment would determine whether Randy VIII was anything beyond a particularly aggressive warrior-class.

Seven's face fell, "It makes me so sad that I can't take care of him anymore,"

"You are still his brother, and he will no doubt continue looking up to you," Randy assured him. "You may not always be able to look after him, but if you are there when he needs you, then you are doing the best you can." He smiled faintly, though his ears drooped and it was apparent that the words were just as much for himself as for Seven.

Sensing this Seven gave his father a kiss, "Yes, Daddy, thank you," he said solemnly.

Randy gave him a pat and sent him on his way.
"What were you and Dad talking about?" asked a curious Randy VI as Seven entered the hall.

"We were talking about Eight," said Seven, not wanting to reveal to his brother everything that had transpired.

Randy VI squinted at him. "What about Eight?" He glanced over his shoulder as though to be sure that their father wasn't listening nearby. "You mean the way he fights?"

Seven gave a nod, "Daddy said it's nothing to worry about," he said.

Six pulled him in the direction of his room for a more private talk. "I know what it is," he said.

"You do?" asked Seven, his interest piqued.

Six nodded. "Did you know there's a fourth class?"

Seven shook his head, "No, I thought there were only three," he said.

"There's three main ones, but warrior class has another subclass that's just called special class since it's so rare," Randy VI explained. "If our kind lives secretly on another planet like the people from Dad's ship did, they have to study and watch the natives before they make the decision on how to come out. When everybody starts to agree it's about time to start considering that decision, it's almost like the nervous tension makes some people give birth to special-class." He held up a finger to indicate that his explanation wasn't finished as he rummaged through a set of files on his computer and pulled up an image on the screen. It was a historical photo of a green-skinned Schickelgruber pinning down a creature of similar size and appearance, save for the opponent's full head of hair and more needle-like teeth. Both of them were covered in blood and various wounds, and the Schickelgruber's mismatched eyes gleamed with a mix of glee and malicious intent. Six tapped at the image. "That's a special-class. Way, way, long time ago, they were important and happened a little more often because communication wasn't as good, weapons weren't as advanced, and most of the races we met were a lot more hostile. What they did was look for the natives who looked like they'd give them the toughest challenge, and fight them. Most of the special-class don't just stop at beating them, though; they like to try to humiliate them and really rub it in if they can, supposedly to keep 'em nice and mad. Then they leave and watch to see how the other guy handles it. We used that to gauge how violent or unpredictable the natives were, what their mental state was like, and how their society reacted when things like that happened, all in case coming out led to a war or something. There was never very many special-class, but there's been less and less of them over the centuries. We're evolved to the point that they're not necessary any more, but it takes time for things to just stop happening completely, so sometimes they still show up. They're like other warrior-class, but a lot meaner. Supposedly they settle down a little after a few years like a sort of built-in safety mechanism, but they're still pretty vicious their whole lives."

"You think Eight is one of those?" Seven asked, peering at the special classes mismatched eyes and recalling his brother's.

"Probably," said Six. "He doesn't just fight a lot. He loves it."

Seven's shoulders sagged, "I noticed....I'm scared something bad will happen to him some day,"

"It might," Six replied honestly. "I've been looking it up; a lot of them get killed not long after they finish training. What they do is really dangerous, and they don't stop sometimes until it's too late."

Seven's lip trembled, "But....but he's my baby brother..."

"I know." Six put an arm around him. "He's mine, too, and I don't want any of my brothers to get hurt." He gave Seven a gentle kiss. "But if that's what he is, then that's what he is. We'll just have to hope he's careful."

Seven gave a dejected nod, "Ok,"

Six rubbed a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about it. We don't even know for sure yet; he's still little."

"I hope he's not special class! It's bad enough he's warrior class," said Seven furiously wiping frustrated tears from his face.

"I'm sure he'll be OK," Randy VI said softly. "Come on, sit down." He sat on the end of the bed and pulled Seven along with him. Though Six was older, Seven was already a few inches taller. This didn't stop Six from cuddling him close and nuzzling his head with the general message that he was there for his little brother.

Seven wrapped his arms around him, sending his big brother a mental flash to show him that he was appreciative.

More time passed, without much change. Then came Randy VIII's eleventh birthday. Within another year, he was scheduled to start at-home training with his father in replacement of the gym classes--though he would still be expected to spend time at the gym on a regular basis of his own accord. For now, though, it was time to test for his true class distinction.

Seven was fourteen by then and he was doing everything in his power to keep an eye on his little brother...

Randy came to them and announced that it was time for Randy VIII to be tested. "The test will be performed in a government facility," he explained. "It should not take very long."

"H...He gonna be ok, right daddy?" asked Seven anxiously.

Randy nodded solemnly, knowing that there were no guarantees. But at least for now, Randy VIII was safe.
Eight gave Seven a hug and a kiss, then went to say goodbye to Nine and his mother before he and Randy were out the door. Randy was silent and contemplative for the entire trip, as he knew exactly what result to expect and what it might mean for his son--and perhaps his entire family--in the future.

They arrived at the facility and Randy VIII was led away by a large Schickelgruber in uniform and seated in front of a computer which would monitor his responses.
"Randy VIII. Do you know why you are here today?"
"Yes."
"I will ask you a series of questions. Do not attempt to falsify your responses. After you are through answering the questions, the computer will show you a set of images and feelings. We will study your reactions to these along with your answers, and the results will be formulated accordingly. The testing process should take no more than five minutes..."

Nearly two hours later, they arrived back home and Randy opened the door, looking just as grim as when he'd left.

Seven was waiting, having not left sight of the door since they'd left, "He is? Isn't he..."